Standing Among Giants
by Caligo Origuu
Summary: Agent Coulson got his team together before the Chitauri/Loki debacle and he has enough faith in them- or perhaps just doesn't believe they'll stay behind if he tells them to- to get them onto the helicarrier. Chaos ensues, as it always seems to.
1. During: In the Way

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me. I don't even have an OC in this one.

WARNINGS: This isn't meant to be a linear, coherent story; it'll be more of a collection of fragments in random order, or maybe even just a short, rambling two-shot. No big plans for once; I just had an idea in my head that wanted out onto the page.

HERE'S THE DEAL: Agent Coulson got his team together before the Chitauri/Loki debacle and he has enough faith in them- or perhaps just doesn't believe they'll stay behind if he tells them to- to get them onto the helicarrier. Chaos ensues, as it always seems to.

* * *

DURING

Chapter One – In the Way is a Very Bad Place to Be

This was not part of the plan. Well, all right, as far as Skye knew, there wasn't really a plan in place for a situation where a brain-washed SHIELD agent infiltrated the helicarrier with a small army, but if there _was_ a plan, it would certainly not include her more or less blocking the path said agent seemed intent on taking.

She honestly hadn't _meant_ to get in the way; she wasn't trying to be brave or heroic or anything. It was just bad luck that had placed her in particular hall when the shooting started and bodies began dropping. She'd dived for the nearest corridor only to realize she'd effectively put herself in the worst possible place. Skye didn't have clearance for the door behind her, she couldn't hack it without any equipment or at least a little more time, and the intruders were headed straight for her.

Dead end.

The archer rounded the corner, bow in hand. Skye couldn't do anything but press back into the corner. She didn't have any cover; she didn't have a weapon. So she used the only defense she had left: her words.

"Agent Barton- look, I know there's something messing with your head, but you have to be in there somewhere," Skye pleaded, trying to force her shaky, frightened voice into something resembling calm or confidence- _something_ worth listening to. There was ice in his eyes; nothing yielding, nothing human. She knew she wasn't reaching him. Skye held her empty hands up in as much supplication as surrender, but there wasn't so much a hint of faltering in Hawkeye's steps. Or in his hands as he lifted the arrow. "_Please._ This isn't you. You're one of us. You don't have to do this. You're _better_ than this."

But those too-blue eyes didn't so much as blink when he aimed the arrow at her heart and let it loose.


	2. After: Hospital Beds

AFTER

Chapter Two – Hospital Beds Are Never As Comfy As They Should Be

"Seriously," Skye grumbled for approximately the hundredth time, "you'd think with all the funds you agenty types spend on your gadgets and secret hideouts, you could afford comfortable beds for the mortally wounded."

Ward didn't flinch at her words, but the faint tightening of the muscles in his jaw was enough to tell Skye that perhaps it was still too soon to be joking about how close she'd come to being one of the many agents who'd died that day.

"I don't think the 'mortally wounded' are usually all that concerned with the state of their mattress. I've certainly never heard _them_ complain about it so much." He dropped his voice on the last sentence, but not nearly enough to keep her from hearing. Skye's expressive face twisted in a half-hearted scowl, which only served to light a spark of smugness in his gaze. Then she sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I know, I know. I'm being a brat. I need to 'man up'. Which is a terrible saying, by the way. It should probably be, 'I need to _Mai_ up', but that just sounds weird and if somebody didn't know who I was talking about-"

"What kind of drugs are they giving you?"

"…Right. It's just- The drugs are great and all, but I still ache and I hate being stuck here and I really just want to go back to our plane." Her voice had slipped into an almost childish whine, but Skye thought she could be excused. She _had_ just been shot, after all. Thank God for the Hulk. She'd found out later that Banner's sudden mood swing had been what saved her; the Hulk's temper tantrum had rocked the unstable helicarrier at the crucial moment. The arrow had nicked a lung, which had been all kinds of not-fun, but at least it had missed her heart. Brainwashed-Hawkeye had apparently decided it wasn't worth the time to finish her off. And, hey, at least something good had come of it; she had gotten out of clean up duty. New York looked like quite a mess on the news. Every once in a while she'd hear a complaint from agents walking past her room about moving all those alien bodies. Skye shuddered. No thanks.

That wasn't the only thing she'd heard them complain about. Most of the team was busy- though they had visited- they wouldn't let her have her laptop and access to the wifi on base, and Ward wasn't terribly chatty, so Skye had little to do between disconcerting bouts of exhausted unconsciousness except listen to the gossip from the hallway. There wasn't much of it, but there were a surprising number of agents who apparently didn't feel the need to censor their displeasure with the fact that Hawkeye had been allowed back into the fold without repercussions.

Skye had to wonder whether Hawkeye's presence on the base had anything to do with why Ward wasn't busy helping with the cleanup with the rest of the team. He'd sidestepped the question every time she tried to ask.

Movement in the hall drew her gaze without thought; surprise jerked her upright, which wasn't the smartest idea. Skye hissed and pressed a hand against the wound she'd jarred, but she didn't relax enough to settle back onto her pillows. She only had a second or two to register that the one of the pair walking past was the very agent she'd been thinking about. Fear flared first- a violent rush accompanying the memory of too blue eyes and an arrow flying towards her- but Skye's need to face things, to _understand_ was stronger. And it wasn't like she was alone; her SO was right there with her.

She called out before her nerves- or reason- could get the better of her.

"Hey Barton. Barton!" He kept walking- either not hearing or choosing to ignore her, his red-haired partner gliding calm and impassable at his side. Skye felt a twinge of frustration and more than a little relief. Then the silhouettes of the pair paused at the far edge of the curtained windows that took up half the wall that separated her room from the hallway, and she found herself holding her breath. There was a moment when everyone was still, trapped in the silent tension, then the pair of assassins turned around and walked back to her door.

A shiver crept across Skye's skin, but familiar determination straightened her spine and lifted her chin, and when Agent Clint Barton stepped into the doorway she didn't hesitate to meet his gaze.

Hawkeye would have been fairly intimidating no matter how they'd met. The hard lines of his expression and his guarded gaze told of how dangerous he was just as loudly as his broad shoulders, well-muscled arms or the quiver on his back. It was just as well that Skye had never been one to be easily intimidated, even before she'd worked with agents like Ward and Mai and met the Avengers. And there was something about the tension in his shoulders and the faint reluctance in his movements that spoke of hesitation, wariness- of her? In any case, it made her braver- if, unfortunately, not exactly more articulate.

"Uh…" _Why didn't I have something planned for this? A speak or- just- words- I have no idea what to say! Maybe should have figured that out before I called him back, huh?_ Skye's brain panicked and she shot a glance at Ward, looking for help. He wasn't looking at her though. Ward had locked a cool, warning gaze on Natasha Romanoff, who matched his stare with a similar expression, both of them sizing each other up. _Both playing guard-dog?_ The mental image made Skye's lips twitch in amusement, and she was a touch calmer when she looked back at Hawkeye. She still didn't know what to say.

"Hi. Sorry, I just wanted- I'm just-" She'd needed to see him for herself, needed to _know_ that he wasn't really the same man who'd tried to kill her, and now that she'd seen, Skye really just wanted to find a way to let him know she didn't hold him responsible. Skye's grimace shifted into a crooked, self-deprecating little smile. "I guess I just wanted to say welcome back. And I'm… glad you're not brainwashed anymore and everything."

Barton had gone very, very still about halfway through her rambling explanation. The only reason she knew she'd affected him was because his expression had gone so immaculately blank. He wouldn't be working so hard to hide everything if he wasn't feeling anything. Or something. It made sense if she didn't think about it too hard.

For a moment she thought she'd made a mistake touching on such a sore subject, but as she opened her mouth to apologize, his gaze turned searching and he took a step forward- slowly, like he was wary of frightening her. It was pretty near impossible to confuse him with the emotionless archer who'd attacked her.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be glad to have me back on base," Hawkeye stated bluntly. That was fine; Skye could do blunt.

"Why, because half the agents on base can't seem to get their brains around the fact that someone voodooed you?" His eyebrows went up, surprised by her frankness or her tone, but there was no denial. Skye huffed and rolled her eyes, flopping back against her pillows. "Please. I'm not even officially an agent yet, and _I_ can tell that you're not the same guy you were on the helicarrier. It'd be ridiculous to hold a grudge against _you_; you didn't do anything. Except take on the Chitauri afterwards."

Her passion got away from her, overflowing from her voice like it often did. Her words might not have been eloquent, but they were effective. They were all watching her by then. Ward looked vaguely amused at her pique; she couldn't read the Black Widow's expression, though it wasn't as hard as earlier. And Barton… He'd crept a few steps closer during her mini-rant and was watching her with such concentration that she would have been nervous if she wasn't still irritated by the apparent stupidity of gossipy agents in the hallways.

"I was really that different?" Barton's quiet, steady tone that did nothing to diminish the weight of the question.

"You were- you were- blank." Skye waved a hand vaguely. "Not- agent-mask blank, not like you were hiding something or being professional, you were just… blank. You were focused and efficient but not- not driven. It wasn't like there was emotion, or duty even, pushing you forward, you were just-" She shrugged, helpless to explain any better. "I don't know- you were just moving." _A lifeless puppet_. She kept that thought to herself. "You aren't anything like that now. There are little tells that people are thinking even when you can't tell _what_ they're thinking. There's a shift in tension, or a twitch of a finger, or a pause in a movement. Hesitation or adjustment. There wasn't any of that on the helicarrier. That and, you know, your eyes aren't glowing anymore," she added with a smirk.

A quiet huff of a laugh broke the last of the tension in Hawkeye's frame, and Skye's lips stretched into a grin, rather pleased with herself for having gotten him to lighten up a little. "There is that."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's not terribly original I know- versions of this sort of scene have been written before and I've enjoyed reading all I could find- but somehow I still find writing this extremely satisfying. Despite the fact that there's way more rambling than dialogue or action. I like the idea of Hawkeye getting absolution of sorts from someone he actually succeeded in hurting, someone who wasn't really a friend beforehand or a superhero.


	3. Before: Great Minds

REMINDER: This isn't meant to be a linear, coherent story; it'll be more of a collection of short fragments in random order (though I _will_ fix that eventually, when I have enough chapters), because that seems to be the only way my muse is willing to supply me with inspiration.

* * *

BEFORE

Chapter Three – Great Minds Have Their Own Opinions

Fitz & Simmon's experience on the helicarrier had started out well enough. The labs were well stocked and the lingering sense of potential doom hanging over their heads was frankly rather exciting so long as they were kept a reasonable distance from the worst of the danger. Then they'd gotten to meet Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark. Simmons had been _thrilled_ to get the chance to meet the radiation specialist and Fitz had been far too taken with the technological genius that was Tony Stark to pay them any mind. Right up until the point that Tony had turned his considerable charm on Simmons and she'd gone flustered and blushing like a school girl.

It wasn't that Fitz was the jealous sort- well, no, that was exactly what it was, but it wasn't a romantic sort of jealously- he was fairly certain- it was just that Simmons was _his_, his partner, his friend, and he didn't appreciate Stark butting in and practically threating to take advantage of her. It didn't help that she hadn't exactly discouraged him.

"I'm just saying, you might comport yourself with a little more… decorum," Fitz was trying to explain in low enough tones that it wouldn't carry to the other side of the lab where Stark was messing around with one of the computers. "We're supposed to be professionals-"

"Oh please," Simmons interrupted huffily. "You were the one practically drooling on his shoes when he walked in."

"I was not!" She gave him a look and his shoulders hunched defensively. "That- that was purely intellectual admiration," Fitz stuttered. He waved a defiant finger in her face. "You were- you were _flirting_."

"I was not!"

"You were. You were definitely flirting. With both of them even."

"I- That's- preposterous." She didn't sound entirely convinced herself, but she made up with determination what she lacked in certainty. "You're delusional. We have important. world saving things to focus on."

"I am focused," Fitz huffed. Truth be told, despite the mild argument that just kept going, neither of them showed any signs of lessening efficiency. Their fingers skittered deftly over circuit boards and holographic schematics without hesitation, their extraordinary minds multitasking between their work and their conversation flawlessly.

"Trouble in paradise?" Stark asked, startling them both when he stepped close enough to peer over their shoulders at their work.

Simmons deliberately ignored the personal connotations and started explaining how far they'd gotten in cataloging the Loki's staff and the implications of what that might have to do with the Tesseract, talking faster, alongside and sometimes over Fitz's additions as she got warmed up. Both Stark and Banner looked a little bemused by the onslaught of words, but soon enough they were adding their own expertise and drawing the pair into their research as well.

It was an extraordinary thrill working with people who could not only keep up with their brilliance, but push them to think faster, cleverer. They were quite enjoying themselves, up to the point where Tony's issues with Shield came to the forefront.


	4. During: Kick in the Head

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Gotta say thanks for all the follows and reviews! Every time I get that alert email it reminds me to keep working at the next chapter.

* * *

DURING

Chapter Four – No One Ever Plans for that Kick in the Head

It was Loki's arrogance that did it in the end, his need for theatrics, for Thor to _see_ him destroy his comrade. He dropped the illusion as he jabbed the staff into Coulson's fragile, human heart-

Or he would have, if a dark-haired woman hadn't caught his head from behind with a sweep of her foot. The staff pierced Coulson's shoulder and he gave a shout of pain, stumbling but not falling. Loki was immediately too busy trying to fend of the quiet, efficient furiosity of the other agent to keep Coulson from staggering to the control panel for the cage. The Asguardian Prince of Mischief felt a rare flutter of nervousness as the door slipped open and his brother was freed.

Things were not going quite according to plan.

"May!" Coulson grunted, struggling with the gun he'd briefly discarded. It was difficult with only one working arm, but he managed to half kneel and steady the gun on the floor between his leg and his good arm long enough to pull the trigger. It was an impressively accurate shot considering the circumstances. May dove out of the way at his warning and the glowing ball of energy clipped Loki's shoulder, knocking him off his feet. The staff fell to the ground with a clatter.

Thor leapt after Loki with a roar, intent on delivering a much-deserved punch to the nose. Loki groaned and rolled out of the way just in time as Thor's hammer slammed down where he'd been laying a moment before. The metal beneath it crumbled.

"Don't destroy the ship!" May barked. The helicarrier had already seen more than enough damage; they didn't need Thor punching holes in it too. She kept an eye on the fighting Asguardians but after carefully picking up the staff, she walked away from them to Coulson's side. He hadn't gotten back up off the floor. His face was pale and drawn, but she was relieved to see that his eyes were still sharp.

"We need some help down here," she said into the comms. Coulson grunted as she pressed her rolled up jacket firmly against the mess the staff had made of his shoulder. Blood loss was her top concern, but the small part of her mind that wasn't completely focused on what was happening right then couldn't help but wonder whether he'd ever be able to use that arm properly again and what that might mean for his future.


End file.
